


Moto Perpetuo

by Misanagi



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-01
Updated: 2009-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-04 01:58:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misanagi/pseuds/Misanagi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trowa's day is stopped by the sounds of a violin in a subway station.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moto Perpetuo

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/gw500/profile)[**gw500**](http://community.livejournal.com/gw500/). Prompt # 219: Captive

Through the busy streets of New York people rush by every day. They head to work, home, for lunch, to the theater, to keep an appointment or maybe just to go somewhere. Trowa Barton is no exception. His portfolio in hand he walks out of the subway in a non-descript station of the posh part of the city.

He's heading for a meeting with a gallery owner, interested in displaying some of his works. The moment he reaches the stairs he hears the music for the first time. Trowa lives in a "bohemian" part of town, where artist, writers, actors and musicians roam around displaying their talent in every corner. He is, therefore, no stranger to street performers. However, the mournful sounds of the violin that reaches his ears makes him stop walking, causing the woman behind him to almost bump into him.

Trowa tightens his hold on his portfolio and climbs the stairs, slowly, almost painfully slow compared to the rushing crown around him. He reaches the top and his eyes look quickly for the source of the music. The man is standing unobtrusively by a trashcan. The violin case is in the floor at his feet with a couple of crumbled bills and some changed thrown in. He's wearing jeans, a beige jersey and a baseball cap over his head. Trowa walks slowly to a nearby wall and leans on it, listening.

He doesn't know the piece the musician is playing, he has never heard it before but there is something about the music, the emotions that come through it and the passion he can see in the player, that holds Trowa captive in place.

His eyes are trained on the violinist. Every move the man makes is elegant, his fingers seem to dance rapidly over the strings while his back arches, head held hide and feet firmly planted on the ground. His eyes are closed most of the time, as if he's too absorbed in the music but sometimes Trowa can see the clear blue irises looking around with some amusement and confusion.

The piece ends and so far only two people have stopped to drop money on the case, a few have turned to look but only Trowa stands, quietly by the side, watching.

He doesn't clap, he would feel awkward doing it but he knows the violinist deserves a standing ovation, not to be ignored. Trowa glances down at his watch. He knows he can't linger any longer. He'll be late if he doesn't leave now. He sighs and makes a move to leave but then the next piece starts.

It's slow and mellow and Trowa can almost feel his worries melt with every pull of the bow. He relaxes again against the wall and listens. At first the music is like gentles waves, rocking Trowa into a sense of peace and calmness. Trowa watches the violinist. His movements are calm, consistent, almost like a dance. Little by little the tempo increases and effortlessly the musician's movements become faster and faster.

Trowa takes a deep breath and feels the uplifting melody. He's entranced, not only by the music but by the small smile on the violinist's lips. This is joy, Trowa knows, this is happiness and Trowa has found it in a subway station in the form of a street musician.

The minutes pass but Trowa doesn't worry about his meeting anymore. He knows its an important opportunity but what he's witnessing now, this is truly extraordinary and he doesn't want to miss it.

Trowa doesn't move. He listens to the next two songs and by the third and last the musician has finally noticed him. He plays the last piece, the whole fourteen minutes of it, looking at Trowa, he plays just for him. And Trowa can't pull his eyes away from the blue ones and he can't help but smile.

The musician lowers his violin. He kneels by his case and pockets the money before carefully placing the instrument in its case. Trowa feels like he has just woken from a dream. He walks across the station and stands by the musician. He has twenty dollars in his pocket and they are supposed to last for the rest of the week. He takes them out and offers them to the musician. "That was amazing," he says.

The violinist looks at the money and smiles. "Thank you," he says and takes the bill. "You were the only one listening."

"People are deaf." Trowa still doesn't understand how could everyone else miss the extraordinary event that was happening right before their eyes.

The musician starts walking and Trowa walks with him. They leave the station and both stop by the street. "Would you join me for some coffee?" the musician asks and Trowa agrees.

Moments later a black elegant car stops in front of them and a driver steps out and opens the door for the musician. He climbs in and gestures for Trowa to follow. Not really understanding what's going on, Trowa does.

The violinist takes his cap off ad brushes back his blond hair. "I should introduce myself. My name is Quatre Winner."

Trowa knows that name. His eyes widen. He has never seen him or heard one of his recordings but he knows Quatre Winner is considered a prodigy, one of the best violinists of their generation.

"How did it go, Master Quatre?" The driver asks.

Quatre laughs. "I played for more than an hour and made," he counts down the money in his hand. "Fifty three dollars and twenty-four cents and that's only because he gave me twenty. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name…"

"Trowa Barton."

"That's not possible!" The driver sounds shocked. "We thought there would be a crowd!"

"Apparently people have better things to do than to stop and listen to some music." Quatre shrugs. "I was getting frustrated but then I noticed you listening." He looks at Trowa. "Thank you!"

"You are a famous musician," Trowa says, still in shock, not really understanding what's going on.

"Not today but you listened anyway."

Trowa can't keep his eyes away from Quatre's smile. "How could I not?"

 

Two weeks later Trowa sits in first row center and watches Quatre play. The people around him have paid more than a hundred dollars for the privilege but Trowa has been invited. Quatre is wearing elegant black trousers and a white shirt with a lose black tie. He plays and Trowa listens. And then Quatre smiles, smiles at him the way he did on the subway station and Trowa knows a miracle happened that day and thanks to that miracle Quatre Winner now looks at him from the stage, ignoring all the other spectators, and plays only for him.

 

\- The End –

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by the article **[Pearls Before Breakfast](http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/04/04/AR2007040401721.html)** of the Washington's Post.
> 
> See some cool art by [](http://tyreling.livejournal.com/profile)[**tyreling**](http://tyreling.livejournal.com/) [**here**](http://misanagi.livejournal.com/220439.html).


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